Red Warmth
by Kat-Knife
Summary: I huddle on the bench in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch as the storm rages around me, reflecting my inner sorrow perfectly, crying unrepentantly, until he comes with his bright red hair, warmth and hope. This is the story of hope, love, and loss, told from the point of view of someone unexpected. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 3.


**The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Round 3 **

* * *

BOOM! The lightning crackles around me as the rain starts pouring down with a vengeance. I am seated in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch, looking lost and alone, so so alone. I stare out into the rain blankly, not caring that my robes are soaked through or that I might get a cold if I sit out here too long. All I can think about is her face when I told her no.

_"NO I won't do it!" I had screamed at her. She had looked so shocked, like she couldn't have imagined someone, anyone, especially me, speaking to her like that._

_"You can't whore me out like I'm some sort of prostitute! I won't do it! I won't, I won't!" I had snatched the gown that she'd brought for me to wear from her hands and, using strength that I hadn't known that I possessed, I had tore an ugly gash in it, ruining the previously beautiful, ice blue gown. I had then taken the gown and thrown it to the ground before angrily stamping my feet upon it._

_She had risen from the chaise that she was seated on with an enraged look in her eyes. She grabbed me by the arm and shook me like I was some kind of wayward pet._

_"You will do what you are told! This is the best marriage proposal that we have received so far and you are not going to ruin this chance for our family by acting like a quarrelsome child!" She ground out between clenched teeth, her normally composed demeanor vanishing like smoke. Her blonde hair was coming out of her bun, spittle flying out of her mouth and hitting my stunned face. She had looked nothing like the Ice Queen that she was renowned to be. She had instead looked like an insane woman, bent on her getting her way. And she had gotten her way, I had consented. By the end of my seventh year, two years from now, I would be married to an affluent businessman who was twice my age._

I start to cry, at first quietly, but then my tears turn into choked sobs that are ripped out of my mouth. I huddle on the bench in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch as the storm rages around me, reflecting my inner sorrow perfectly, my face in my hands, crying for the life that I'll never have, for the life that I could have had.

A cheerful whistling interrupts my lament. I raise my face out of my hands and look around to see two familiar figures walking, or in their case, skipping towards the Quidditch Pitch, their arms interlocked. I bite back an irritated curse. I don't need those two fools to come and disturb me, because I know that they will, especially when they see the green insignia sewn on my robes. I try to appear smaller on the bench, holding my robes closely around me. I don't particularly want to move from my dreary spot, not yet, I haven't quite finished mourning the loss of my life.

"Hey Gred, it's really raining out here isn't it?" One of the redheaded dunce says to his twin.

"It sure is Forge, what do you say that we split up? I'll get my bag from the Pitch and you can grab our missing assignment for Transfiguration from the changing room." The other twin declares gaily to his counterpart.

"That sounds just dandy, dear twin of mine." The first one joyfully remarks, unwinding his arms from his twin and galloping off in the rain towards the changing rooms.

The other twin, Gred, or George, continues on his way towards the Pitch, insistently whistling a lively tune. He clambers up the rungs of the stands recklessly, swinging his arms by his side like some kind of moron.

_'I hope he falls and hurts himself, then he will stop that infernal whistling and I can finally have some peace and quiet!' I viciously think to myself, hoping that he does, indeed, fall and hurts, preferably breaks, one of his body parts._

But alas, the happy dope with diabolically good luck, finishes scrambling up the stairs and makes his way to his lost bag.

_'Why can't he use his wand to summon it, is he a wizard or not?' I think waspishly to myself, watching him through a curtain of wet blonde hair as he grabs his bag, swings it onto his shoulder and starts making his way back down the stands._

He takes a different route to go back down the stands than before and starts making his way towards me, kicking his feet up at random intervals as he does so.

_'Oh no, no! GO away, go away! Don't come near me!" _I turn away from him and try to make myself look smaller, my back facing him.

Unfortunately for me, he doesn't seem to heed my unspoken prayers and he spots me. Immediately his whistling stops.

"Hey, who is that? Are you ok?" He asks concernedly, approaching my back. He stands a few feet away from me, waiting for my answer.

I don't answer him. I just furiously shake my head, trying to make him go away, but of course, the one half of the wonder twins ignores my request and moves closer to me, almost touching me, but not quite. I can feel the warmth emanating from his hand on my back, but he's still not quite touching me.

"Hey, it's ok if you're upset. Do you, well, um-needsomonetotalkto?" He mumbles out. I can almost imagine him scratching his goofy red head right now, looking adorably, I mean, idiotically confused.

"No." I whisper out, my voice hoarse from crying. Almost simultaneously, the warmth on my back retreats.

_'No!' _I almost cry out,_ 'Come back!'._ But of course I don't, I'm Daphne Greengrass, the Ice Princess in training to be the Ice Queen, devoid of any emotions or anything resembling a heart.

I'm surprised when instead of leaving, he comes and sits beside me, pointedly not looking at me but at the Quidditch Pitch in front of us.

I take a moment to examine him. His red hair hangs in front of his face in clumps, little beads of water dripping onto his equally red eyelashes. Every few seconds, he blinks the water away, only for it to be replaced a few seconds later. His arms are loosely hung at his sides and he also seems to look a little lost, just like me. I brush that thought away quickly. He is nothing like me. I'm in Slytherin, he's in Gryffindor. I'm rich, he's not. He has a heart, I don't.

"So, do you do this often, sit out here in the middle of the Pitch while it's raining?" He asks me casually, staring determinedly at one end of the goals.

I shake my head no, trying to stifle my sniffling. It doesn't work and I end up dissolving into fresh tears. He looks rather alarmed at the change, but, nevertheless, hesitantly pats me on the back. I turn towards him, desperate for some warmth, and bury my wet face into his equally wet chest. He uncomfortably wraps his arms around me and soothingly rubs my back.

"It's ok, whatever it is, you'll be ok." He whispers into my hair.

_'No, it won't be ok.' _I think sadly_, 'I'm going to be chained to some old geezer after two years and the only reason that you're even comforting me right now is because you don't know that I'm in Slytherin. If you did, you wouldn't be here with me, you'd be inside with your brother, being the happy fool you are.' _

"Everything will be ok. I promise." He breaths out one last time.

"Hey Gred, where are you?" Yells one annoyingly bright voice; Fred Weasley.

"I'm coming!" George yells back. He untangles his arms from around me, sliding them to my wrists, and looks down at my head.

"Will you be ok?" He asks earnestly, unconsciously rubbing his thumb across my pulse point.

I shiver a little at the tender touch, but nod my head.

"If you ever need to laugh or play a prank on someone, Gred Weasley is your man!" He says proudly, his voice regaining a jaunty tilt.

He happily saunters away, away from me and towards his brother. I unconsciously shiver from the loss of contact and warmth, already missing it. Surprisingly enough, I'm filled with a rare feeling, hope. I believed him when he so earnestly told me that I would be ok.

A small smile forms on my face, and as if reflecting my mood, the rain slows down to a drizzle.

I know that this feeling of hope, happiness, won't last forever, but for now, I'm content to feel it.

* * *

_A few months later_

I stifle a laugh as I watch in unadulterated glee at the antics occurring in the entrance hall today. Fred and George Weasley have brought madness upon the walls of Hogwarts, into its corridors to drive one woman insane and I fully support them.

I can't contain my laughter any longer and I laugh mirthfully as Gred and Forge make their grand escape from Hogwarts.

In that moment in time, my laughter is forever preserved with their memory and I feel like they have taken me with them, like I too have escaped from the bonds anchoring me.

* * *

_2 years later_

I feel my heart flutter and then break as I listen to the service. It's absolutely beautiful and, at the same time, heartbreaking.

I'm at the funeral service of Fred Weasley, sitting in the very back, my face shrouded with a veil. Tears fell unbidden from my eyes. I can feel the raw pain radiating from him, George Weasley. He's sitting at the very front, his shoulders bent with the weight of the world. He stares blankly ahead, not acknowledging anything or anyone. He looks like a shell of the man he once was, broken.

After the service is over, I go up to him. I squeeze his hands and tell him what he once told me, "Everything will be ok. I promise."

I don't know why I'm here, maybe to try and repay him for the hope that he gave me, for making things better, because he was right. A year after the moment that I shared with George Weasley in the rain, the man that I was betrothed to died in an unfortunate accident, leaving me free to wed someone else, someone I loved or might have loved, if I were someone else.

He nods stiffly at my words, but doesn't respond in any other way.

I want to wrap my arms around him and just hug him until he doesn't have that blank look on his face anymore, but I don't, for I'm Daphne Greengrass, the Ice Princess, now Ice Queen and I can't ask him for his heart, even though I've, unintentionally, given him mine.

I move back away from him and look on with dejected eyes as Angelina Johnson, a former Gryffindor, does exactly what I long to do. She draws George into her arms and murmurs soothing words into his ears.

I turn away from them and start walking away, away from the person that I shouldn't love, but against all odds, do. I'm a Slytherin, today may not be my day, but in the end, I always get what I want, and I only want one thing, George Weasley.


End file.
